The Companion
by FairyTell
Summary: Slash Veela!Draco/Mate!Harry. Harry has a choice before him: rot away in a prison or be bound to the cold Draco Malfoy in every possible way - mind, body, and soul. "You're mine," Draco breathed. "From the moment you drew breath. You cannot escape this."


**Title:** The Companion

Harry Potter Fanfiction by **In Loving Memory**

**Disclaimer**: I am not the creator, merely the storyteller. This piece of fiction is made purely for the enjoyment of writing it and for the readers who choose to read it. No money is to be made of it. All rights belong to their respective owners.

**Rating: **M

**Warning: **Reader discretion is advised. This piece of fiction will have homosexual pairings and follows cliché idea of Veela!Draco Malfoy and Mate!Harry Potter. Subject matter will be dark, so please keep this in mind. Homophobes have been warned; flames will be used for toasting marshmallows and pretzels.

**Summary: **Magical AU. Harry Potter now has a choice before him: Rot away in prison cell for the rest of his life orbe bound to the cold and heartless Draco Malfoy in every possible way - mind, body, soul and magic.

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**Author's notes:**

**My computer decided to delete this story when i tried to replace the chapter with the edited version. Sorry to those who added it!**

This story was inspired by many Veela fics and The Poison Study by Maria. V. Snyder.

Harry and Draco's ages are different. Draco is twenty-one and Harry is eighteen. Please keep in mind that this is a Magical AU, so there will be no Voldemort, death eaters and Hogwarts. Harry is an orphan and a Wizard, though his wand was snapped in half when he was sent to Azkaban.

Hopefully I do it justice.

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**Chapter One**

**Of Metal Chains and Seeing Stones**

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He couldn't say for sure how long he had been there for. Days and nights tended to blend together as no natural light was allowed to penetrate the perpetual darkness of his damp cell. Had it been days? Weeks? Years?

He had never been afraid of the dark before. Even when he was a child, he didn't need the candle lantern that cast mythical beasts on his bedroom walls at the orphanage or the door left cracked open. The dark had never unnerved him; he had always felt some small measure of peace from the stillness.

Now, though, he was growing to fear it.

Maybe it was being alone in the dark that bothered him. Odd, considering how he once preferred to be alone. He never thought he would miss the presence of others so terribly. It had been a long time since he had set eyes on a friendly face. Felt the comforting touch of a friend. He even missed hearing his name being spoken aloud.

Here, he wasn't known as Harry Potter. Here, he was _Prisoner #214_. He wondered if there would come a time when he would forget his own name. How pathetic was that? He would have once laughed at such a ridiculous notion. How can someone forget his or her own name?

Azkaban did strange things to people's minds.

When you're alone in the dark, and you only have your own thoughts and the vicious taunts of the Prison Guards to keep you company, you would be surprised at all the things you would forget.

Harry fought to keep his memories from slipping away entirely, like grains of sand slipping thorough his fingers. He remembered snippets of songs, passages of stories he had read and Quidditch matches he had gone to see. He remembered laughter and smiles, friends and the Orphanage's elderly Matron. He saw in his minds eye images, flashes of familiar faces and echoes of encouraging words. They played over and over again in his head. It hurt to think about them, but he had to, or else he may have gone insane.

The loud metallic clang of the lock startled Harry from his thoughts. A wedge of pale yellow light sliced through the darkness, then travelled along the stone wall as the heavy cell door opened. Caught in the lantern's glow, his eyes watered at the brightness. He squeezed them shut and cowered in the corner of his cell, his delicate arms wrapped around his knees in a protective gesture.

"Get up, you miserably rat, or I'll beat you where you sit!" Two dungeon guards entered his cell. While one held the lantern aloft, the other grabbed him roughly by his arm and pulled him to his feet. The guard attached a heavy chain to the metal collar that was around Harry's neck. Harry didn't struggle. He still bore the bruises from the last time he thought that was such a good idea.

His legs felt like they would give out at any moment, trembling and weak from lack of good food and clean water. Pain flared to life as the incessant tugging from the chain rubbed the metal collar against the already raw flesh of his neck.

Standing still, Harry waited for the guard to shackle his wrists behind his back and manacle his feet. His eyes were beginning to get used to the light, they weren't tearing up as much. A forceful shove from behind nearly sent him to his knees but he caught himself at the last moment. "Alright, let's go. We don't have all day."

The guard with the lantern led the way down the main corridor of the dungeon. Thick stale air coated the back of his throat and lay heavy in his lungs. His bare feet shuffled over stone and puddles of indefinable muck that he would rather not think about.

Ignoring the calls and pleas of the other prisoners, the guards never missed a step. Harry kept his eyes forward and flinched at the words thrown at him.

"_The boy's gonna' get it!"_

"'_Bet you scream real good. Give it to him, guards! Let's see how loud those lungs are!"_

Harry felt physically sick. The only time guards ever took a prisoner out of their cell was to torture them or execute them.

The passages were low and narrow, some with doors and lanterns, and others that led into empty darkness. It was a maze of doors and corridors that left Harry feeling disorientated. He lost count of the number of turns they made and was surprised at the sheer size of the prison.

The guard pulled him through a set of thick metal doors, light once again blinding him. _This is it, _Harry thought as he started to panic. _Moment of truth. _

Nearly yanked off his feet, he followed the guards blindly. His body itched from insect bites and from sleeping on dank dirty straw. He stunk of rat. Given only a small ration of water a day, he didn't waste it on baths.

Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked around at his surroundings. The walls were bare and made of flagstones. As they passed two open windows, Harry glanced out with longing.

He had never seen the sea so blue, nor the sky so clear. The fresh breeze smelt like an expensive perfume, and he breathed deeply. The warmth of the air against his face told him that it was the start of summer, meaning he had been locked up for a year.

That thought alone made his bound hands clench into fists.

Finally the guards led him to a spacious room. It was plain with Wanted posters all over the opposite wall and books stacked precariously on the floor. A large wooden table, strewn with documents and ringed by four chairs, occupied the centre of the room. Behind the desk sat two men.

The one on the left was obviously a servant. He was small in stature, with ink-stained fingers and grubby reading-glasses perched on a too-large nose. The other was a well-dressed gentleman wearing a waistcoat with gold buttons and a luxurious velvet smoking jacket. He had a bold head, large belly and an enormous silvery walrus-like moustache. As his eyes scanned Harry, they widened in surprise.

Suddenly conscious of his appearance, he glanced down at his tattered grey prison gown and dirty bare feet. Dirt-streaked skin showed through the rips in the thin fabric. His long ebony coloured hair hung in lank clumps, sticking to his sweaty forehead. He must have looked a sight, a dirty little thing swaying under the weight of the chains that bound him.

The gentleman shooed the guards away. "You are dismissed." When they were gone, he turned back to Harry and offered him a thin smile. "I suppose introductions are in order. I am Horace Slughorn. And you are?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

"I assume your wandering why you have been brought here."

Harry nodded slightly, mindful of the metal collar. "The thought did cross my mind."

"Before I get to that, I want to perform some tests on you. Nothing painful or embarrassing, I assure you." He motioned his servant forward. "Right. Let's get on with it then. The day grows old."

The servant rose up from his seat and stood by Harry. "If you could stand up straight and face forward," he asked politely.

Harry did as he was told, straightening his bunched shoulders with a little effort. From the corner of his eye, he watched the servant pull a tape measure out of his tunic pocket and take Harry's measurements.

"Bare your teeth please," he grabbed his chin none too gently and checked them. "Nice strong teeth. Aesthetically pleasing."

"Good. I cannot abide people with bad teeth." Slughorn grumbled, watching the proceedings with a greedy eye.

"Pleasing muscle structure, good bronze skin tone. A little underweight, but that is to be expected on a prison diet." The servant said absentmindedly as he moved Harry's face from side to side. Harry was beginning to feel like some exotic pet with the way the guy was listing his attributes and examining him.

"A better diet would easily take care of that." Slughorn waved the words away impatiently. "What I want to know is if he's Companion material?"

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "Companion material?"

Both Slughorn and his servant ignored his question. Instead, the servant sighed softly, obviously used to his Master's impatient behaviour, and walked back to the desk. He returned with a strangely shaped crystal that was a milky blue in colour. "Hold out your hand, palm facing upwards."

He placed the crystal in Harry's outstretched hand and they watched as the crystal turned a milky white before solidifying into a vibrant red.

The servant smiled for the first time. "He's a Companion."

Slughorn clapped his hands together. "Excellent!"

Harry swapped his weight from foot to foot. "A Companion?" he asked again.

It was like a switch going off in Slughorn's head; the cogs of his brain began to turn. "Harry, my boy, you are what is known as a Companion. A mate to a Veela. You know what that means, don't you?"

Harry had heard of such things. Veelas were a very rare magical race that was not unlike a Wizard in form. They were incredibly powerful and influential creatures in the Wizarding world, often coming from prestigious aristocratic families. They were famous for being beautiful, possessing strong magic and their continuous search for their one true Companion.

Whilst many fantasised about the idea of a Veela soul mate, Harry knew it could sometimes take a dark turn. Companions often had no say in their bonding. Their feelings and well being was cast aside in favour of the well being of the Veela. The Ministry of Magic had made it abundantly clear that they would do anything necessary, including forcing Companions into slavery, to preserve the Veela heritage. It wasn't unheard of for a Companion to be forced into a bonding, nor a Companion to take his or her own life to escape such a reunion.

But over the years there were fewer Companions. Blood was being mixed with other Wizards who had no 'potential' and the Companion gene was growing thinner than ever.

To be poked and prodded in this way, to be tested on his potential…he was beginning to get a horrible feeling in he pit of his stomach. "And you're testing if I'm Companion material why exactly?" he asked.

The servant took the stone from him and gave it to his Master. Slughorn stared at the stone and a disconcerting smile touched his lips. "We have been up and down the country looking for Companions like you. You're very rare; did you know that? No stone has been left unturned. It seems it was worth it to come to this place after all."

Harry shook his head, disbelieving. "You must be mistaken, Mr. Slughorn. I'm not a Companion. I would have known if I had entered in an inheritance. My parents were Wizarding folk."

Slughorn's grin almost became lascivious. "It has been known for the Companion gene to pop up every now and again from having Veela ancestors six generations ago. And your inheritance, well. I think you already have, don't you? Every Companion goes through a series of changes between their sixteenth and eighteenth birthdays. You, dear boy, went through the change that led to the fateful night you killed Tom Riddle. Your allure drove Riddle mad and he tried to make you his."

Harry struggled to keep his face impassive, the memory of that night resurfacing like a horrible nightmare. "It was self-defence," he told Slughorn, his voice gruff with emotion. How many times had he said that? Too many to count, obviously. "I- I never understood how Riddle could turn like that. He never once showed interest before. The allure, you said? That was what made Riddle change?"

Slughorn nodded. "Yes. The allure can be everything from your scent, your appearance and your voice. Whatever people find pleasing, the allure will draw on those points to attract them to you. Of course, the allure is only really supposed to attract your mate, but then there has been casualties…" _Like Tom Riddle _was left unsaid.

Harry looked down at his shackled feet. Harry had noticed himself changing over the short course of a few months. He went from being a short skinny boy with messy black hair and average looking face to a slender youth with brilliant golden skin, sleek ebony hair and a handsome face. It was disconcerting, to say the least. He had thought it unnatural. He tried hiding these changes beneath baggy nondescript clothes and a hat.

But then he had made the mistake of not locking his bedroom door at the orphanage when he set about changing to go to bed. Riddle had come back from the boarding school he attended the previous day and had walked in on him. He had gone insane, tearing at Harry's clothes and trying to pin him down to the bed. Then something had happened. Something welled up inside of him and it spilled outwards, throwing Riddle off of him and smashing his head against the wall. He had died instantly.

Slughorn nodded to himself. "Yes, yes. Definitely special. I think I will have a private auction for you."

Harry felt his stomach plummet. "Private auction?"

"Yes. Only a private auction would do for someone as uncommonly pretty and powerful as you. I don't think I have ever seen the Seeing Stone turn that deeper colour before. Very powerful." Slughorn motioned for Harry to take one of the seats in front of him. The chains clanged as he perched on the edge, his instincts screaming at him to flee. _Go where? I am chained; guards are everywhere. There is no escape. _

Slughorn watched him intently for a moment without saying anything, lost in his thoughts. Harry shifted his weight on the seat, feeling awkward and very aware of his dirty appearance when the man looked like he hadn't done a hard days work in his life.

Slughorn accepted a piece of parchment from the servant, who was now sat in his seat, and began to read it. "Prisoner 214, Full name Harry James Potter, eighteen years of age." He gave a loud chuckle and leant forward, his elbows resting on the table as he laced his fingers under his chin. "Harry, you now have a choice before you. If you turn down my offer, you will be escorted back to your cell where you will serve out the rest of your sentence. You were arrested and charged for murder, Mr. Potter. I doubt very much that you will see the outside world before you reach your fiftieth birthday."

Harry just stared at the man, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Or you will accept my offer and sign your life into my keeping, where I will sell you to the Veela family who has come to claim you and you will live happily ever after as a Companion." He said it with such indifference that Harry had to wonder at his humanity.

"You mean you will sell me as a slave." he clarified.

"If you wanted to use the barbaric term for it, then yes. I prefer to think of it as you doing a great service to the Veela family. Some Veelas will live their whole lives without mates. I consider myself as the middleman. I provide Companions for them and in return amass a great wealth of gold. Everyone is happy."

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Except for the Companion, but Harry didn't say that part out loud. Harry couldn't get his head around the concept. "Why me? I'm a prisoner. I'm sure no family would want their son to be bonded to an ex-prisoner who has committed murder."

The gentleman sighed. "Because there aren't many of you left. The Ministry of Magic have issued a Law that clearly states that all Companions must be registered and bonded to his or her mate. No exceptions. And regarding the murder, Veela families look upon that as something that had to be done. If you had let Riddle defile you, then you would be a very weak mate indeed. Riddle wasn't your mate. He tried to forcefully take what wasn't his and you killed him for it. As far as Veelas are concerned, you did the right thing."

Harry felt sick at those words. "That can't be possible. No one can condone murder, even in self-defence."

Slughorn sat back in his seat. "You obviously have a lot to learn about the Veela world, Harry. You may even grow to like it. If you choose to accept my offer, that is. So, what will it be?"

No longer able to sit still, Harry stood and paced around the room, dragging his chains with him. The room suddenly felt too small, too cluttered with books and the large table. _Bigger than the cell that awaits you._

"What is your answer?" Slughorn asked again, a slice of impatience colouring his tone.

Harry turned back to him. "I accept your offer."

Slughorn grinned. "A wise choice." He nodded to his servant who walked to the door where the guards awaited in the hall. They snapped to attention as the door opened. The servant spoke softly to them and they nodded. One entered the room and pulled a key from a bunch hanging at his waist and he came forward to unlock the shackles and collar.

Raw bands of flesh circled Harry's bloody wrists and ankles. He touched his neck, feeling skin where there used to be cold metal. His fingers came away wet with blood.

"Oh my, that looks like it hurts," Slughorn pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry. "Episky." With a small flash of light, the raw flesh was no more. Harry stared down at his wrists. Not a scar or even a blemish in sight.

Looking up, Harry watched as Slughorn poured two goblets of an amber liquid. Corking the bottle, he offered one to Harry who took it gingerly. Raising his own goblet, he made a toast. "To Harry Potter, may you bring me good fortune!"

Harry declined offering any toasts of his own and knocked back his drink. The liquid burned slightly as it slid down his throat. _Firewhisky. _

"What happens now?" Harry asked, setting the goblet back onto the table.

"Now, you come with us to the Companion pens to get you cleaned up and nicely presented for your showings. Can't have you looking like that, can we Mr. Potter?"

Suddenly Harry's world tilted to the left and he blinked owlishly. He shouldn't have downed the drink. He hadn't had anything but water for the past year. "Showings?" He slurred.

Slughorn smiled. "Yes. I want to show you off to the Veelas. All very classy, I assure you."

Harry felt his head get heavy and his eyes were trying to close on him. This…this wasn't normal. "What…" He cleared his throat and tried to speak again but it was coming out in unintelligible noises. He tried to lift his arm but it wouldn't move from his side.

"I'm sorry for the deception of putting a sleeping drought into your drink, Mr. Potter, but I couldn't risk having you fully functioning before I have you registered. You might get the stupid idea of escaping into your head and then where would I be? But I promise it will wear off soon and won't leave any lasting effects on your person."

"You…Bast…ard…" Harry slumped into his chair, unable to keep himself upright.

He succumbed to the darkness.

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"Was that really necessary?" Asked his servant with a frown of disapproval.

Slughorn stared at the boy slumped over in his chair. He really did look a complete mess, but there was no denying how beautiful he was. "Of course it was. I know his type, always trying to be the hero. Besides, I won't risk anything going wrong. I have a very important buyer in mind."

The servant turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Who?"

Slughorn smiled. "Why, the Malfoys, of course. Their son has recently turned twenty-one. The moment he walked in, I just got this feeling he would suit young Draco perfectly."

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Hopefully that wasn't too confusing for you guys.

**Feed**(My muses)**Back** please.


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